once upon (two halves of a whole)
by One Foot Forward
Summary: Captain Swan drabbles / / uploaded from tumblr
1. one, two, three, four

**AN. **so I know I have enough half things going on (and a really really full thing I have planned that is a massive undertaking of CS proportions designed to fill the endless void until March) but here are more Captain Swan things - these are just drabbles and prompt answers that I have on my tumblr. I only am uploading a couple right now because it is almost two in the morning and I should stop doing this before work, but there's plenty more to come!

(I repeat - hiatus until _March_. Tomorrow's episode _please_ don't be a huge cliffhanger)

* * *

The first time it had been a robbery, the second time to prove a point. The third time was to win a bet –– he'd brought back a flask of the Queen's whiskey and they had drank until morning –– and the fourth time was for her to reclaim victory (and win back her favourite set of pearl earrings). The fifth time was to say goodbye, the sixth to say hello again, and by the seventh they had stopped coming up with excuses. Every evening Emma would lock her windows and close her blinds and kiss her mother and father goodnight, and then she would light the candles in her room and wait for her favourite pirate to attempt to break in again.

His visits were the highlight of her week.

Eventually she stopped making him pick the lock at her window, rushing up as soon as she heard the tell-tale click against the pane, informing him that it was better this way, wasted less time (and besides she was holding hope that he'd get rusty with his skills and perhaps one day she'd take him off guard). She would pester him to tell her grandeur tales of life at sea, of towns she could only ever dream of seeing, and he'd oblige if only because he knew how heavy duty weighed down on her.

Some evenings there was alcohol and card games (and small miracles, that the maids never heard or were willing to let Princess Emma's craziness slide), and she began to learn sea shanties and he picked her brain on the faeries' galas. Other times they would just talk into the evening, poking and prodding at vulnerabilities that neither thought to hide.

Their first kiss was the night of her birthday –– he had snuck in to the ball, donned in a regal outfit she just _knew_ he had stolen, and taken her out to the gardens, twirling her around statues of kings gone past and fountains that were only ever on for special occasions, until she had swayed forward and looked up and gazed at bright blue eyes, and then his lips were on hers and it had been magical. The second and third (and fourth and fifth, and _gods_) kisses had been just as glorious, which remained a pleasant surprise for Emma, and their card games suddenly became a lot more _provocative_.

–– she played willfully ignorant to reality then, that her parents weren't mere royalty, that his day job was anything less than larcenous –– it was better, this way, keep it light, keep it fun, because she was too scared that it might be anything else.

(besides, if he did get scared off, how would she ever master pick pocketing?)

She was terribly eager to learn every single dirty trick he had (for education purposes of course, she was royalty and it was her responsibility to be open to _all_ kinds of skills), and while he was more than happy to teach her, things tended to take a turn for the seductive about halfway through any lesson.

This thought made her frown, as she walked into her room and he was _already_ sitting on the chair next to her vanity, and she made a mental note (again) to get him to tell her how he did that so fast. She _knew_ her help was absolutely unnecessary and she need not open any doors for him, but sometimes it irked her that he so obviously didn't.

Apparently, it bothered him too. He was quiet, as she entered, and everything about the scene ––his schooled expression, the lack of the typically borderline-euphoric smile –– had alarm bells ringing in her head. She closed the door softly behind her, never taking her eyes off of him.

"Emma, we need to talk."

Her frown deepened, hands fluttering over her dress (she usually changed out formal wear before he came), her words stuck in her throat. Rather than reply right away, she walked over to the window, throwing open the curtains and letting in as much light as possible, breathing in deeply to soothe the sudden panic.

"I find," she said finally, her back to him "that those words never lead to something pleasant."

He remained seated, pointedly away from her, which in itself spoke volumes. "Emma."

"Killian." She repeated, with the some inflection, turning now to face him. His face was twisted into something only slightly softer than anger, his shoulders tensed as if ready to flee.

And gods did that scare her the most.

"I realized something tonight, when I was sneaking past your guards again." He said, his voice strangely calm despite everything else.

"Yes?"

He let out a deep breath, and she wondered if perhaps he was as nervous as her. Wouldn't anyone be nervous, she mused, if they were about to deny royalty?

(she had fervently hoped he would never hold her lineage against her)

"How long have I been coming here? Months? A year almost?" He asked, although she hardly thought he was looking for her answer (which was good, because her thoughts had taken her elsewhere, a place with more _finality_, and she hardly knew how to respond to a topic that was anything other than _goodbye_). "In all that time, have I ever been unable to get to you?"

She knew from his gaze –– eyes narrowed with anger, closed off to her own searching look –– that he wasn't boasting. "You're very good at what you do." She tried, tentatively.

She noticed then that his knuckles were white, gripping the arm of the chair with dangerous, pent-up _something_. "So are others." He argued.

_What_ was he getting at? "No one is trying to reach me Killian. No one but you."

_There's no one but you_.

"But someone _might_ one day."

None of what he was saying seemed to be an easy way to lead to a departure, and it was confusing and frustrating, had been her biggest fear since that first evening she had invited him in, and she couldn't follow what he was trying to get at.

"Well no one is _today_, so I'm not sure what the problem is–"

"Damn it, Emma, don't you see what's wrong with this?" He interrupted, a snarl on his face. "If _I_ can get in, _someone else _can. You're the Princess! _The _Princess. The only heir to the most powerful realm in our land."

Her eyes narrowed now, and his anger was doing wondrous things to the high thrumming of her heartbeat in her neck, turning panic into ire. "You've know that all along!" She whispered, the harsh sound still quiet because it wasn't like her parents slept _that_ far away. "You've always known who I was, why does that matter _now_?"

"_Because_," he replied, with more despair in his tone than before "you should be the most difficult to person to reach."

_I shouldn't be able to get to you._

And suddenly, with a wave of immense relief, she realized that this wasn't about them. It wasn't about them _at all_ (and she was absolutely going to hit him upside the head as soon as she was done feeling pleased that it _wasn't_ about them).

It was about her.

"Are you worried about my safety?" She said, a small laugh in her voice now. "Is that what this is all about?"

He stood up, and she was so _close_, leaning into him because he wasn't running scared, and grasped her upper arms in a tight grip, ducking his head down so that she could see into his eyes. They were open to her now, terrified, and she wondered maybe if she shouldn't have smiled.

(it was his own damned fault, for making her think –– )

"This is serious Emma."

"I thought you were trying to leave." She said, the words coming out rushed, and at his raised eyebrow she scrambled to clarify. "Me, uhm, leave me, that is."

Thankfully this seemed to send enough shock through him to chase away the fear. "_Emma_." He said, and held her closer, his hands drifting slowly down her until they held her waist. "Emma, I _love_ you. You know I wouldn't - I could _never_…"

Her returning smile was on the edge of a breathless laugh, and she held up her hand to gently cup his face. She had suspected, had felt it in his touch and his grins, but she had never _presumed_ –– "And I love you." She admitted, her cheeks flushing.

For one perfect moment they were absolute copies of each other, full and open smiles, happiness racing through her body and soaring until it reached the points where he was touching, and he leaned down to brush his lips against hers. They were grinning too much for it to go anywhere (_yet_, she thought, with a wicked smirk) so she fell against his embrace and tucked herself into him, her face flushed against his neck.

After a moment she found her voice again. "So don't try and tell me that I need to strengthen the guard or tell the _dwarves_ to bolt the windows shut –– I couldn't stand the thought."

Because she knew, with absolute clarity, that now was _not_ the time to be facing her parents and convince them that she wanted to court a pirate (although she had a sneaking suspicion that her mother would be alright with it, if only because her father had been a shepherd and then a prince and briefly a runaway, and background didn't really matter).

She felt him smiling against her hair, and then he was pulling her away just enough so that he could see her face. "Your dwarves would have me strung up by my toes if they ever knew why you wanted that."

Emma _would_ have argued…except it was pretty much true. "So they won't find out."

"Emma…" Killian said again, and she could hear a bit of the worry leaking back into his tone.

"You can teach me how to defend myself. I'll even sleep with a dagger." It had been a big hold-out of hers, because knives were uncomfortable, and she hated to have to be so paranoid all of the time.

"That isn't enough–"

She brushed her fingers against his lips and shook her head softly. "No, it's _fine_. My safety is not worth my happiness."

He groaned, tugging her back into him. "You make me a selfish man princess."

Her arms were around his shoulders and she began playing gently with the hair at the nape of his neck (he was a _pirate_, for heaven's sake, how was it so smooth?). She could practically hear him purr. "How so?"

"I _do_ want your happiness. But I want my own as well, and I fear I can only be happy with you."

His hands were on her hips, stroking softly against the fabric there (and again, she hated that he had snuck in before her, because she was in this gigantic dress and it was _ridiculous_ how much work it took to get off) so she leaned up and pressed a soft kiss to his jaw, then his cheek, until she placed one on his lips and nothing had ever tasted so sweet.

"It's a good thing then," she said, staring up into eyes so blue and so passionate that they had stopped her from calling the guards the first time she had laid her gaze one him "that my happiness can only be found with you."


	2. as you wish

drabble; captain swan, inspired by everything since the (hopefully first of many) kiss / something had changed, and Emma can't quite figure out what.

* * *

She wasn't sure when it had started, had only noticed it one evening when he'd uttered that _damnable_ phrase and something had sounded…off.

The first time, she'd been cooking dinner for them –– Henry safely tucked away with Regina, Mary Margaret and David off on their own date night that involved something that Emma was firmly on the side of _need to know basis _(and she did _not_ need to know) –– when she'd asked him to fetch a bottle of wine she had up in her room. He'd nodded his head and smiled at her and held her gaze for a pause to longer and said;

"As you wish."

It was that extra beat, the look that said a bit too much…Emma knew he'd said the phrase before (a vivid memory of _scorching _and _blazing_ that refused to leave), she'd even had a brief flashback to the time she had told the tattoo artist _yes please a buttercup just a buttercup on the wrist_, but he was Captain Hook and that had been Neverland and the connection was tenuous one made entirely in her head.

So even if it did sound weird, for the phrase to fall out of his mouth a third time whilst she was in a startling domestic situation, she brushed it off, shook her head because _as if_.

.

.

.

The second time, they were at Granny's and Emma was waiting for Henry to pop by for a morning hot chocolate and cinnamon, and Killian was keeping her company –– he did that, so gradually and steadily that she'd barely had a chance to protest.

And she had asked him to pass her a menu, it was morning and she was hungry and she was damned if she didn't have fun making him eat the strangest things she could think of, and he had looked away this time, down into his lap and then over to the other side of the diner as he reach for the plastic sheet and murmured "as you wish love."

And she had that thing with lies that was mostly a mixture of body language and inflections and so she could tell, that there was something _different_ and it wasn't the same and ––

–– then Henry had walked in, had said _hey captain_ and it was as if nothing was out of the ordinary and besides, this was breakfast time and she refused to waste any of her moments with petty concerns so it had to wait.

.

.

.

The third time was when she began facing the facts that maybe she wasn't making this up. They were at the sheriff's station and she'd been doing paperwork _all bloody day_ and _didn't she know how to take a break_ and Emma's eyebrow was twitching every time Killian paced in front of her.

(it wasn't as if she had wanted to spend the day inside, hunched over a desk, that had never been something she'd liked to do, but he was being _distracting_, god damn diversion wrapped in leather and she had really needed to catch up)

So she pointed to the door and declared it time for the honorary assistant to go fetch them some coffee (or as he liked to put it _that disgusting torture instrument disguised as a beverage_) and he had scowled and simpered for a minute before approaching her at her desk.

"You work yourself too hard love." He'd said, lifting his hand to rub a thumb gently over her cheek, where dark circles lay. She'd leaned in to his hold for a moment, closed her eyes and sighed. But the facts remained and really, he could use the fresh air himself –– he'd been with her all afternoon.

"I just need to get through this stack. Please?"

And she never asked anything of anyone, didn't need to get permission because she did whatever the hell she liked, so she opened her eyes and held his gaze and he'd nodded, hand still on her face. "As you wish."

And he'd said it so softly, and there had been _that_ look in his eyes, the one from Neverland and the Echo Caves and _god damn this pirate_ and Emma's suspicions were officially raised.

.

.

.

The fourth time she approached him, walked right up to his ship and on the deck and was halfway to the helm before he popped out from underneath.

It was a stormy day and the wind was blowing something fierce, which suited Emma's purposes just fine because it matched the way her heart was pounding in her chest. She gave him the few seconds it took to reach her, long strides permitting her only a moment to try and soothe the voices that screamed in her head that _this is a bad idea_and then he held her face in his grasp.

"Love, what's wrong?" He asked, a frown marring his features.

So she reached up, cupped his chin in her palms and tried to smooth away the lines, smooth away her worries. "Nothing." She breathed, hated that he made her breathless and shy and _weak_ (and lovedit, loved everything he made her feel, _loved _––)

"I was talking to Henry," she said, cutting off her thoughts "I was talking to Henry and –– you know that day you two were snowed in, at my place, you said you watched movies?"

He was giving her a different look now, dawning comprehension, so she took this as a yes, of course he remembered, and plowed on.

"It's funny because you watched uhm…well it's one of my favourites actually so of course Henry would show it to you––"

"Emma."

"The Princess Bride, you watched that one? You know, with the dread pirate Roberts and Buttercup?"

He said nothing, his hand dropping from her face, smoothing around her waist and pulling her closer. It struck her suddenly that he was _nervous_, that his hand was shaking and his touch was hesitant at best.

She moved her hands to his shoulders, leaned back in his hold so that he had to tighten it around her. "I mean, I _know_ you did, like I said I was talking to Henry and he told me you did and I mean I have to ask because I kind of thought something had changed…"

He shifted slightly until his forehead was resting on hers, watching her cautiously and_hopefully_ and she babbled on. "I know things _have_ changed, between you and me, and there's been this thing I've noticed ––"

"_Emma_." He said, unable to get out anything else, his eyes holding everything he could not ask. And she'd always been so good at reading him, better than anything she'd chalked up to _bail bondsperson _and _seventeen years in the foster system_ and when he leaned his head in some more she knew he was answering her questions with one of his own.

She sighed and fretted and gripped his shoulders but he was _still looking_ and she began to feel the storm in her heart settle into something resembling joy.

So she smiled and threaded her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck and answered "As you wi––"

The rest of the sentence was cut off with a kiss.


	3. you didn't even try

drabble; inspired by this post / who's he kidding, he doesn't want to ever stay away.

* * *

_"Just as I am done, with you."_

There had been fighting then, a duelling match to make it back to her realm and Killian had to be honest with himself –– he wasn't done at all.

The Swan girl wasn't even that great with a sword, clearly a beginner, and yet it was invigorating to duel with her, to hold back enough to enjoy the clash of steel, the sound of _when I jab you with my sword you'll feel it_, and he'd been so into it he hadn't even seen the hit coming until he was staring at stars and letting his body fall into the sand.

_Bloody turn on, that's what it was._

But that had been okay, no big deal, because he'd always had a backup, and if _Emma_, lovely, darling spitfire who he both hated and admired, could get back to her boy and Hook could still get to his crocodile than that was _okay_.

But Killian found revenge nothing like he'd thought it would be. The anger and loathing and fury-driving revenge only became tinged with bitterness, a gaping hole that he had thought to fill with the crocodile's blood. He had never thought so far ahead to understand that such deep red liquid only seeped out, nothing so insubstantial would _fit_ where Milah had been.

He tried again, because for centuries vengeance had been his first, second, third priority, but underneath it he _knew _–– revenge was an end and not a beginning.

And when blonde hair haunted his dreams, a siren's voice pleading with him that she understood, that he could play a part in a hero's quest, Killian began to see hope.

/ / /

_"I made a decision when it comes to Emma…I'm going to back off."_

And he _had_ meant it. He'd even acted on it for an entire evening, drinking himself into a stupor, hitting up the Lady Bell in some far off hope that someone from his past could blind him to the future he was hardly certain he deserved. But then she had run into his sights, had made a face like perhaps it had meant something, and then the world had gone to shit.

So to speak.

And if there was an impending curse and the potential to lose his _memories_, the experiences that had made him believe in a beginning, then he was going to go out fighting, he was going to go out with her _knowing_ that his silence was the only way he could think to fight for her because he was bloody well going to _tell_ her ––

–– and then he held her face in his hand, this time so different from the last (he had goaded her then, jesting, merely joking about her father, and then her lips had been on his and _burning_ and it had been _glorious_ but rushed, oh so rushed) and when he kissed her she knew that it wasn't a_one-time thing_ it was a forever thing and he would find a way back to her if he had to go.

Because really, for all his talk, Killian's never even tried to stay away.


	4. green eyed monster

drabble; captain swan because the promo for 3x11 is killing me / a take on Emma's inner, jealous, monologue.

* * *

There had been a scream. Neal was waiting for her in the diner –– that had been enough to deal with thank you very much –– and there had been a scream. A shriek, a cry for help, and she was the saviour and a _Charming_ and of course she had to deal with that, and with giving her ex/father-of-my-child/man-who-let-me-rot-in-jail a second chance, and it had been _enough_.

But then there had been Hook. Hook and Tinkerbell and that sentence was already way too much for her but now she had to look at them and check their clothing (not rumbled –– mostly at least, because Hook was always a little bit dishevelled) and their faces (concerned and a little bit flushed) and jump to the obvious conclusion because Granny's was the closest thing to a sleazy motel and did fairy tale characters even understand what a motel was and her thoughts were running away from her now.

"Wait, were you two…?"

Because he had said _win your heart_ and _until I met you_ and there was no way ––

"No." "Perhaps."

Emma was still three steps behind, still catching up to _there had been a scream_ and she couldn't deal with the weird feeling bubbling up in the pit of her stomach. She glanced at Hook slowly, taking him in from the boots to the shirt that was never fully buttoned, and to Tink who was shooting perhaps the dirtiest look _ever_ (way to go fairy, Emma silently cheered) to the captain.

_Wait a minute, did I just feel happy because she wasn't giving him bedroom eyes?_

The thought settled deep within her and rooted and made its home underneath her chest, just as Emma realized it was _jealousy_ and she hadn't felt jealous over anything other than Henry since_heart crushed _and ––

The woman screamed again and first thing was first, so Emma glared at Hook, gave him her best_what is wrong with you_ look that she had perfected long ago, and ran off to help.

If she noticed him following behind her, she pushed the thought firmly out of reach.


	5. I couldn't help myself

**AN: **we are, we are, we are timeless, timeless ~~

(honestly I am so done with this entire thing how am I expected to last until _March_ I mean _gods_ - I have to resort to making an entire _saga _for these two just to calm myself down)

(jaysus)

* * *

_"I know you will be tempted to try but –_

_"– it won't work." The two shared a look before turning back to him, a memory passing between them. He didn't need to hear it, had been subjected to the story multiple times before when they had been discussing plans over a bottle or two, and was hopeful that if the King and Queen could be laughing over a forgotten love –– and _arrows in the chest _–– years later so could he._

_It was difficult though, to imagine finding humour in any part of this situation._

_"It's a very powerful thing, but both parties must believe in it. It's different from a sleeping curse –– her memory of you, of any of us, is gone."_

_She held out the potion to him, her knuckles white with tension. "They may not be laying underneath the surface, ready to return at a moment's notice…but they're in here. If you can get her to drink this then she _will _remember us. All of us."_

_He took the bottle from her, staring at it for a long moment. He would not have been able to imagine this possibility mere months ago, let alone that first day when they had all woken up in the Enchanted Forest, bereft of everything the curse had placed upon them. Of _her_. _

_"Aye," He said, looking up at them "I will find her."_

_The man opposite to him laughed then, grabbing his wife's hand and standing tall next to her. Confident. Supportive. As much as he loathed royalty, he greatly admired what it was these two shared. _

_"You will. You have to." He said. _

_The Queen nodded. "Bring our daughter back to us Hook."_

_"Bring her home."_

.

.

.

He had to laugh at himself, even as he stared at the closed door and the first plea she had spurned, when he thought back on the many conversations that had led here. They had _told_ him. Multiple times, and on countless occasions, the story of the King and the Queen, when they had been nothing more than a fallen princess attempting to find her revenge, and a prince who had thrown away his crown to save her from herself. The kiss didn't _work_ when the other party didn't remember. And furthermore, he and Emma had never gotten the chance to be something more, to go beyond _as you wish _and _good_, because it had started in Neverland and ended with Pan and the time in between had been mere days.

Yet on some level, it still _hurt_. The joy, the utter _euphoria_, of seeing her face again and seeing her so obviously healthy,well that part was overwhelming, and he could hardly believe he had the capacity for anything other than sheer exhilaration that she was so close to him and that he could touch her, that he _had _touched her ––

_–– _although that was the problem, wasn't it, because even if his hand had threaded through her hair, and his lips had been on hers, she had thrown him and locked him out, and reminded him that although this was _Emma_, beautiful, vivacious, spitfire of a woman Emma, it wasn't the one who had travelled worlds with him, the one who had gradually learned to trust him, to be open to the possibility of _more_ with him…

And that was the part that still hurt.

He stood up, prepared to wait her out until she would at least listen to him. He was _Captain Hook_ for god's sake. He had been alive for over three hundred years and had been in torment for the greater portion of those. He could damn well convince one woman of his honesty.

.

.

.

She had thrown him in jail. In _jail_.

Sure, New York had changed the concept somewhat, but Killian still recognized a cell when he saw one (or as current situation dictated, when he was _in_ one). He had given her the potion, tried to argue that they _needed _her, he _needed _her, but the minute he had tossed out the word family her hackles had been raised and she had _called the lawmen. _

And although a large part of him was congratulating his Swan on being so fantastically protective of the new life she'd been given, a greater portion was pacing in anxiety because _of course_ now that she believed she'd had eleven years with the kid she would be increasingly defensive –– why had he thought that maybe this time would be easier, when before there had been enough trouble convincing her to trust him when Henry was a world away, and when there had been countless opportunities to prove himself (Lake Nostos, the Jolly Roger, the bean, the portal, Neverland, over and over _Neverland_, and _you'll find him_, and then the memories flew forward unprompted, and he felt so lost, as out of control without her as the last year had proved he would be).

There was little else to do in a jail cell, and this had certainly _not_ been one of the aspects of the new world that anyone had gone over with him, so Killian entertained himself with tender fantasies, endless possibilities that seemed further out of his reach than ever before.

Just as he was getting to the good stuff –– her warm body, her trust, her _love_ –– the door was sliding open and he was being jostled out of the building. Something about _dropped charges_ and _waste of time_.

He didn't need to understand what they were saying, not when as soon as he walked out into the bright light and he saw her. She was fidgeting with something in her hands, the potion, she still had the _potion_, looking at the pavement then up to him and he just ––

"Swan! I knew you would come around, love." He declared, walking over to her with a grin on his face and his arms held open. And he knew that nothing but what was in that vial could fix her memories, had had that concept _drilled_ into his head time and time again, but he just honestly couldn't help himself.

Because in mere seconds she was tangled up in him, his arms encased around her body and cradling her in the tightest embrace. And maybe she only returned it tentatively, maybe it was something automatic rather than desired, but he buried his face in her hair and all he could _feel_ and _smell_ was Emma, Emma, Emma, and it was worth all of the uncertainty in the world.

"Look, buddy," she said, patting his back and moving to pull herself out from under him "you can't just say you're an old friend and then continue to _assault_ me."

His grip tightened, just for a moment, all he needed was another moment, before he let her escape from him. It was only temporary after all.

"I'm sorry Emma, I was –– I _am_ –– too excited to see your face once more."

And she was squinting at him again, a narrowed gaze that he _swore_ meant something (even though the Queen has said there had been nothing but a fuzzy insistence when she had encountered the King), as if trying to decide why he seemed so familiar. _Gods_ he hoped he seemed familiar.

"Look, I'm pretty good with lies," she said, and he had a vivid flashback to _I'm just a poor blacksmith_ and the Enchanted Forest "and I don't _think _you're lying. But I don't _know_ you."

She said it like one would ask a question, a little wistfully, and not for the first time Killian wondered what her year of _happily ever after_ had been like.

(they had _all_ worried, that maybe leaving Henry and Emma to enjoy their memory-less lives would be for the best, that waking them up and forcing yet _another_ saviour-duty on her would make her suffer, but he had to remind himself _all the time_ that this was _Emma_ and those people were her family, she hadn't wanted to leave them, wouldn't want them to live under another curse, wouldn't want to live a lie, even a pleasant one –– and he always thought back to that _Good _and the way she had been unable to hold the tears back from her eyes as she said goodbye to the last two years of her life)

"You did." He said instead, holding in the _you might even have loved me once_. "Look at me and tell me, have I told you a lie?"

She stared up at for the longest breath's pause, and slowly shook her head. "You don't _believe_ you have at least."

But her false memories, her years with Henry, perhaps they had softened her, or perhaps she knew his face but just _couldn't place it_ –– he'd never know because he had spent his year in deject misery surrounded by new friends but never her –– for she took the potion in her hand, the item she had been staring at before he'd emerged from the lawmen's detention, and tucked it back in her coat pocket. She didn't throw it at him, or yell at him, only smiled gently to herself and nodded her head.

"I'm Emma. Although apparently you already know that." She said, sticking out her hand (thankfully the right one).

He took it in his own and smiled. "I do. The name's Killian. Killian Jones."

.

.

.

They'd gone for coffee then, and although he had a vague idea of what the substance was and its purpose, he wasn't particularly ready for the awful _bitterness_ of it. She had laughed at his face, but it was a kind amusement.

"I don't know what it is about you," she had said, gesturing to his full pirate regalia (re-entering her world without going through the curse had brought him back just as the original one had taken him, and he'd been too caught up in finding _her_ to change) "but this all seems strangely normal."

_Because it could be_, he'd thought, but once more held it back, it wasn't what she needed to hear. So he had just laughed, wryly, but he had laughed, and started to explain the situation.

Without Henry present –– the lad must've been in school, something he'd only recently learnt about –– she was less hostile than she had been the first encounter, but it was a difficult tale for any non-magical individual to believe, and she pointed out as such.

"You're trying to tell me that my parents, who abandoned me so that I could break a curse, left me _again_ so that Henry and I could have a happy life." She said, her eyebrow up and telling him exactly _how_ absurd she thought this whole thing was. "And now that they're under another curse, they need my help?"

"Aye."

"And I'm supposed to just take you at your word?"

He shook his head, and pointed to the pocket in which he knew the potion was. "You merely have to drink that, and it'll do the rest."

"The potion."

"Yes."

"A magical potion with my memories in it?"

"_Yes._"

"That's ridiculous!" She spluttered. "You can't just expect me to drink some strange mystery brew from someone I just met."

"Well sweetheart, as I've been telling you, you haven't just met me." He smiled, tried to smile, and placed his hand on top of hers on the café table top. "Isn't there _anything_ at all telling you that maybe I'm trustworthy?"

She frowned at the sight of her hand under his, but she didn't remove it. Maybe that _was_ the problem –– there was too much telling her to trust him, and yet not enough evidence to back her up. It went against everything he had been told about her whilst in the Enchanted Forest with her parents, and he had to keep in mind that she _wasn't_ from a world with magic.

"What can I say to make you believe me?" He pleaded, turning his hand over to grasp hers. Her eyes flickered to his and her frown straightened out into careful blankness.

He had new respect for the boy then, for Henry, who had been able to convince her to believe without the aid of anything more magical than his faith in her love of him, than his faith in her.

"What if _you_ drank it? Just a little, so I know you're not poisoning me." And she was begging with him too, because he knew she was fighting to rationalize giving in.

He sighed. "I can't love. There's only enough in there for you and your boy."

"Then I can't–"

But she cut herself off, her eyes widening just a touch to let him know she'd thought of something. She slipped her hand out from under his –– and he had to fight the gnawing sensation that followed, an opening chasm in which he knew only the constant touch of _her_ could fill –– and began rifling through her bag.

"Lass, what are you doin–"

She held up a pair of handcuffs then, and he couldn't help himself –– his startled laugh came out on the edge of his gasp.

Handcuffs. _Handcuffs. _This was absolutely _ridiculous_, two years of false memories, countless years of altered ones, and she was still the same Swan he had met in the Enchanted Forest; chained him up in a giant's cave, chained him up in a hospital bed, couldn't her away from those ridiculous, ineffective metal contraptions.

"What?" she asked, her gaze narrowing and –– well he supposed, she had no reason to assume otherwise, but she looked like _he_ was the crazy one, not her, not that no matter what they did she would still revert back to _handcuffs._ "I have them from…"

A funny look came over her, as if she couldn't quite recall why she carried them, although Killian knew it was because she had been a bailbonds person in another life, but shook herself out of it and offered them to him. "I carry them around just in case. Look, if you're stuck to me and this _whatever_ does something weird, you'll have a hell of a time explaining yourself. Especially when I just sent for your arrest less than twenty-four hours ago."

He grinned –– she hardly needed to know he could navigate his way out of the metal bonds easily enough –– and held out his wrist. "If the lady wishes it."

She raised her eyebrows, so like her father, and asked "You're not going to say I'm crazy? That this is ridiculous?"

He shook his head, offering his wrist again, the one that had been around her hand. Having her cuffed to him, having her in any way in such close proximity, was all that he wanted. "I will do anything you ask of me Emma."

He tried so hard to keep his eyes open, to let her see just how much he meant that. He loved her, he loved, loved, _loved _her, would wait another century if it meant that she would be there for him at the end. He had never been so bold as to think he had his own happy ending, but he was selfish and greedy and from the moment he had really _looked_ at her he'd known she held that hope for him.

Whatever it was she saw it seemed to be enough, and she gently clasped the cuff around his wrist, and then slowly did the same to hers. With one more long gaze at him –– and her eyes were just as wide and he could see the confusion, frustration; Emma had magic and even all she could tell was that he was being truthful and that there _was_ something off with her memories, that could work –– she fished the vial out of pocket.

When she uncorked the lid, and he realized that she was _really doing this_, he nodded to the cup. "You only need a little bit love, the rest is for your lad."

She nodded, slowly, and then did as indicated, pouring just barely a third into the empty mug and returning the vial back to her pocket. Before he had the time to fully process, to worry whether or not the potion would even _work_ (Regina had made it, after all, and trusting her was as difficult as letting the crocodile aboard his ship had been) let alone if that had been enough, she was closing her eyes and downing the liquid, her fist clenched tightly where it was attached to his.

He had hoped for…_something_. A burst, a poof, a _sparkle_, anything. Instead he watched her carefully, watched as she swallowed and then gasped, her eyes flying open, eyes that wildly cast around and refused to land on him, and he worried, maybe the Evil Queen hadn't changed, maybe Henry hadn't been enough––

–– and then she was looking at him, and it wasn't with anger or reluctant amusement, it was with _recognition_ and she laughed and ––

"Hook," she breathed, smiling, a name he had never given her on her lips "Hook, it's _you_."

And then he was smiling with her, so widely that it _hurt_, but for once it was a good sort of hurt, because she was leaning towards him and then her hand was on his face and he was _still smiling_.

"How did you – I thought…aren't you supposed to be in the Enchanted Forest?"

"Aye love, but I couldn't seem to get you off my mind."

And even though that wasn't _strictly_ true, he still needed to get to the boy, needed to let them all _know_, she was looking at him with this wondrous look on face, as if she could hardly believe he was here, and all he wanted was to _reassure her…_

––he had begun to see the value of a moment, when they were so fleeting and surrounded by so many darker ones, and he wasn't willing to wait for her to catch up on the news, to worry about her family and her town, because right now she was happy to see him, and it had been _so long _and he just _couldn't help it _–– he leaned forward, used his fake hand to bring her into him, and kissed her.

This time, she kissed back.


End file.
